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At the wall where the farmhouse is afforded the least possible visibility from the more crowded areas of the farm, a quarter-lump of brick falls pointlessly to the ground. Mel, nursing her knuckles, glares at it.

She's familiar with the practice, when you're so pent up with frustration and anger and hatred that you have to punch something, of finding an innocent wall and taking it out on that, and is annoyed to fins out that a) it's not nearly as satisfying as common wisdom holds, and b) it's much much less of a good idea when there's a possibility you might actually win a fight with a building.

She nudges the brick against the base of the house, deciding she'd better get Toph to reattach it later, and turns her attention back to her hand.

Frustration not satisfied, hand hardly injured, house probably not hurting that much from its loss. All in all, a completely no-win situation.

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"Hey." Dean is standing a small way away, obviously just having arrived. He takes in Mel thoughtfully. "Feel better?"

"No."

It's not as sullen as it might be; just blank. Mel's not figured out which emotions she should be showing yet, but she's not unhappy to see him. She looks at her hand for another second before turning her head to do so.

"How's it going?"

Dean looks her up and down and frowns, hands in his pockets. "Caught Sokka out by the pyre."

It's almost an enquiry as to how she is, except that it's not quite.

"Right."

Mel shrugs when he does, dropping her hands in a forced act of casualness, cupping her own elbow, trying to tell him that she's fine, why is he asking her?

And, just in case Dean wants to ask her why she's such a bad sister she's not with him at the pyre, "Had to get the kids breakfast and get them to their uncle."

Iroh teaching two year olds firebending is officially the cutest thing on the farm.

"Yeah." Kids come first. Dean gets that.

He nods, moving a couple of steps closer and reaching out towards her elbow, eyeing the chunk of brick behind her.

"You break your fist?"

Mel presents the hand in question - there's brick dust on it, and a trace of quick-drying blood, but no actual remaining injuries.

"No. Only lost a fight with a building once. Doesn't happen often."

Still, the contact with another human person is nice, so he can examine it if he wants.

"Cool." He turns her small hand over in his big ones, checking for injuries, and then doesn't let go. She doesn't seem to want to, so there's no reason for him to.

"He doin' okay?"

"No."

Simple, blunt, and a little bit snarky for the stupid question, a tone Mel instantly regrets, so she glances away from Dean again.

"He shouldn't've had to do it."

"He had to." Dean lets her hand go and leans against the wall, not close enough to loom. "She was his sister."

It's not Dean's height that's making Mel falter for words, and she blinks slowly, face tense.

"Everyone always says that, right up until it's them hasta face it."

Dean looks out at the horizon, where there's still a wisp of smoke visible, and remembers something else (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDQcQ611Diw).

I'd rather die.

His eyes are bleak when he looks back at her.

"The world sucks. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Mel agrees. "Not your fault, though."

He's not the one who's supposed to be in charge of the whole keeping-people-safe-running-the-farm-being-a-good-sister-protecting-the-family thing.

Not that anyone except Mel thinks she should be, but since when did their opinions matter?

It should have been her.

Using a thumb and forefinger, she pinches the wet out of her eyes and joins him against the wall, looking forward at nothing.

Dean lifts his arm silently, gesturing that she should come closer and let him put it around her shoulders. Most women seem to want that when they're upset, and he promised the kid he'd look after her - all of them.

Mel looks at the arm and meets his eyes before she moves, but she does, leaning against his side and finding that the height difference is just enough for her to find a comfortable spot for her head against his shoulder.

"You don't hafta be here," she points out. He's here for the sex, right? Not picking up the pieces of a stupid girl who can't even keep her family alive and unscarred.

Well, he was here for the sex, but now he's here because of a promise. Which is just as important, if substantially less fun.

He shrugs with the shoulder she's not leaning on, arm wrapped around her shoulders. "I got nothing better to do."

A promise which, should Mel know of its existence, result in a termination of sex and probably a few choice words for Sokka as well.

"Your life must suck right now then."

Dean laughs and shakes his head. "Nah. I'm out here while m'brother does what he does best - research. Christ, if I never see another mouldy-lookin' book again it won't be too soon. I freaking miss the Internet."

"The grid?"

Mel looks up at him in the same action that brings her eyes into a roll.

"Never touched the thing."

"It's damn useful," Dean says, smirking, not bothered by her reaction. "Beats mouldy library books any day."

She smells good, this close. His smirk lingers and turns into a grin.

"'Scept the laws can trace everything you do on the grid," Mel replies. "Paper's got history. Worth more, too."

It's not the subject matter that matters, it's that there's conversation.

"Paper smells," Dean argues, without any real force - mostly just for argument's sake. "And carryin' too many books weighs my car down. Pain in the ass, those things."

"Like the smell of paper," Mel replies. By now she's a little more animated, walking fingers along Dean's belt.

"It's all cute and antique-y."

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Smells like old, dead things. I like things're alive, personally."

His hand on her shoulder slides up a little so he can rub her neck with his thumb gently.

There's a beat in which Mel's still; no change in attitude or position or facial expression, she's just still. And it's more obvious how relaxed she very much isn't.

"Yeah, me too."

"No kidding."

Dean doesn't stop rubbing her shoulder, gently.

"You gonna keep beating the buildings up for it?"